Lady Fan. 'Tis this way I am importun'd every Morning, Madamoiselle. Pray how do the French Ladies when they are thus accablées?
Madam. Matam, dey never complain. Au contraire, when one Frense Laty have got hundred Lover—den she do all she can—to get a hundred more.
Lady Fan. Well, strike me dead, I think they have le Gout bon. For 'tis an unutterable Pleasure to be ador'd by all the Men, and envy'd by all the Women——Yet I'll swear I'm concern'd at the Torture I give 'em. Lard, why was I form'd to make the whole Creation uneasy! But let me read my Letter. [Reads.]
"If you have a mind to hear of your Faults, instead of being prais'd for your Virtues, take the pains to walk in the Green-walk in St. James's with your Woman an Hour hence. You'll there meet one, who hates you for some things, as he cou'd love you for others, and therefore is willing to endeavour your Reformation.——If you come to the Place I mention, you'll know who I am: If you don't, you never shall: so take your Choice."
This is strangely familiar, Madamoiselle; now have I a provoking Fancy to know who this impudent Fellow is.
Madam. Den take your Scarf and your Mask, and go to de Rendezvous. De Frense Laty do justement comme ça.
Lady Fan. Rendezvous! What, rendezvous with a Man, Madamoiselle!
Madam. Eh, pourquoy non?
Lady Fan. What, and a Man perhaps I never saw in my Life?
Madam. Tant mieux: c'est donc quelque chose de nouveau.